


Light My Candle

by charleybradburies



Category: NCIS, Rent - Larson
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Based on a Tumblr Post, Dancing, Dancing and Singing, Dancing in the Rain, Episode: s06e02 Agent Afloat, F/M, First Kiss, I Blame Tumblr, Idiots in Love, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Inspired By Tumblr, Kissing in the Rain, Musicals, Mutual Pining, References to Canon, Slow Dancing, Theatre, Triple Drabble, Universe Alteration
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-15
Updated: 2014-07-15
Packaged: 2018-02-08 22:00:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1957629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/charleybradburies/pseuds/charleybradburies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Partly inspired by my somehow undying love for Rent and by two separate Tumblr posts: an Agent Afloat AU, in which Tony and Ziva are total, lovesick, dorks - but what’s new?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Light My Candle

**Author's Note:**

> [x.](http://fiftyshadesoffiction.tumblr.com/post/91792124132/light-my-candle-an-agent-afloat-tiva-au) [y.](http://fiftyshadesoffiction.tumblr.com/post/91758912877/zivadinozzos-werealljustwinginit-can-we) [z.](http://fiftyshadesoffiction.tumblr.com/post/91758543152/zivadinozzos-hardest180ofmylife-i-have-yet)

I.

Tony untacks one of the pictures from his bulletin board, sighing as he collapses back onto his bunk after a long day. He smiles, thinking not only of the ever-tempting curves he attempted to capture in the photograph, but of the disapproving, maternal, seamless, and, yes, alluring gazes and tones Ziva had sent his way, the curls of her hair and the shape of her lips, the Zivaisms that made him chuckle and the way she giggled at his movie references, her oft-awkward accent, the shine of her bright brown eyes and the way his heart began to ache every time he saw them cease to glow… 

Sure, he missed McGee, and Gibbs, and Ducky and Palmer, and of course, Jenny - and what was any day without Abby? - but Ziva was…well, Ziva. They looked at each other differently, with the sort of glances that could devour someone whole. He thought of her when love songs came on the radio and when Gibbs and Fornell spoke ill of being married. He smiled when he thought about the way she rolled her eyes at him, and flashed back to picturing her pregnant when sailors spoke about the young children to whom their wives and girlfriends had recently given birth. 

Three months as an Agent Afloat, and the second he got off duty, he couldn’t take his mind off his former partner, or whatever it was she had been, whatever they had been - partners, friends…friends-with-benefits. He doubted he’d ever know for sure. Whatever it was, it was sure as hell going to waste while he was on this damned boat. 

"Sir?" a small voice comes from the doorway, startling him. He composes himself, tacking the photograph back onto his bulletin board.

"Yes?"

"There may have been a death aboard the ship, sir."

"Guess that’s my cue, then," Tony halfheartedly jokes, slipping on his jacket and grabbing his backpack and following the young man to the fantail.

"So, that’s her?" asks the sailor meekly as they’re making their way through the ship, and Tony gives him a confused look. 

"Scuttlebutt’s that you’ve got a girl back ashore," the man explains, and Tony bites his lips thinking of how Ziva would react to that rumour. 

"Something like that. Girl of my dreams, at least," he winks, and the sailor nods understandingly. 

"Looks like a handful."

"You have no idea."

II.

She and Gibbs have only been on the boat for an hour when she notices that there’s an oddness in the way the sailors are eyeing her, a gentle, almost sensual familiarity laced with a fearsome respect. The latter she appreciates but the former makes her suspicious. She’s been in this place before, particularly after undercover operations in Mossad - when men realise that the women they work with are indeed women, it hits them like trucks, and the best of them began to struggle to behave themselves. And then there was Tony, for whom behaving himself was universally difficult. Tony, who looked at her as though she had put stars in the sky, like she was a one woman army, like every word she spoke held the power to either knock him to the floor or become masturbatory material. 

A young man stops her in her tracks.

"Agent DiNozzo has returned to his bunk, miss," he states, putting a piece of paper in her hand with a room number scribbled on it and continuing past her. She and Gibbs exchange a momentary look of confusion, then head in the direction of Tony’s quarters.

"Miss?" she muses uncomfortably, and pretends that her heart doesn’t start to skip beats as they approach the door to his room. Gibbs is the one who knocks, giving Ziva a second to see that the men huddled in various areas of the corridor are most definitely staring at her. She’s grateful to hear Tony popping up from his bed and opening the door.

"Boss!" he exclaims, seemingly considering - but, probably fortunately, deciding against - a hug, as he greets Gibbs. Ziva tries to convince herself that she only imagines the softening in Tony’s face as his eyes fall on her, and only fails because his voice falters when he says her name. 

"Tony," she replies, more gently than she’d have preferred, and starts to steel herself to say something else before she hears a mysteriously lighthearted chuckle from behind. She turns to see Gibbs looking at the bulletin board beside Tony’s bunk, and follows his gaze to the set of photographs Tony had taken of her in L.A. She looks back at Tony disapprovingly and growls.

"What are those doing on your wall?"

"H- how did those get there?" Tony stammers, passing around her at a relatively safe distance, and opening the door for Gibbs. There’s a flutter in her stomach, which she tells herself is some level of frustration even as it leaves her thinking about the way his hands feel on her hips, and she prays that she’s not blushing as she exits his room.

III.

Ziva leans upon the railing, fiddling with her fingers and trying to figure out what to make of her day. The storm clouds linger above the ship, but in her wondering she can’t bring herself to return below deck, for to go below means she will have to deal with-

"Hey, stranger."

_Shit._

She spins around and he’s standing only a couple of feet away.

"What do you need, Tony?" she says sharply, instinctually sliding her hands to her hips - which is a mistake, of course, as her mind drifts back to the way his feel in the same places.

"It’s been a while since we’ve seen each other. I thought maybe we could…talk."

She laughs condescendingly.

"That…is an underestimate."

"Understatement."

"Whatever. Do you have any idea how the men on this ship have looked at me today?" she continues angrily. 

"With awe at how much more beautiful you are in person than in the pictures on my wall?" Tony poses, and it hits hard enough that she forgets what she’d been planning on saying. Their gazes meet, and for a moment she’s so speechless she wonders if she’s forgotten her own name. Ziva grows increasingly tense, and upon noticing Tony backs off. Ziva bites her lip as they both pull away from each other, and just as she turns her head the clouds begin to break. Tony chuckles at her annoyed expression.

"Dance with me," he says, extending his arm towards her.

"In the rain?" she questions, and he shrugs, reaching for her right hand and enveloping it in his own. Ziva sighs and steps away from the edge of the ship, and he quickly pulls her into him. Their chests touch and he twirls her momentarily, and though she can feel herself blushing she’s too caught up in the unfamiliar tune that Tony’s begun to hum. They drift closer through a few minutes’ worth of dancing and laughing, and slowly but surely Tony becomes more aggressive a leader. After a couple moments of a relatively static position, his hands travel from her upper to her lower back - she takes a worryingly deep breath as they reach her hips - and consequently send shivers up her spine. Not wanting to interrupt the serenity of their moment, Ziva responds by tightening her arms around his neck. 

The next time she tilts her head up at him, he kisses her - really, truly, viscerally kisses her - and her breathing stops entirely for what feels like a lifetime. 

He isn’t totally sure what’s gotten into him - into either of them, that is, because right now she’s returning his sentiment - and he breaks away from her only when he feels her start to gasp for air, but a moment after pulling away the glare in her eyes makes it seem as though she was gasping for him. 

He scratches the back of his neck awkwardly as his eyes settle on her, feeling not only absurd and quite possibly in love, but soaking wet. Looking back at him, she starts to laugh, and he follows suit.

"You ever seen Rent?" he asks almost jokingly. 

"Which version?"

"Any, I suppose."

"Many," Ziva replies, and he looks at her inquisitively, elliciting a similar look in return. He takes both of her hands in his and walks backwards, and then starts singing.

"What’d you forget?" 

Ziva smiles, and blushes again, but gives in to the puppy eyes he’s giving her.

"Got a light?"

"I know you - you’re, you’re shivering…"

"It’s nothing - they just turned off my heat, and I’m just a little weak on my feet. Would you light my candle? What are you staring at?

"Nothing…your hair in the moonlight. You look familiar…can you make it?"

"Just haven’t eaten much today - at least the room stopped spinning. Anyway…what?"

"Nothing…your smile reminded me of-"

"I always remind people of - who is she?"

"She died - her name was April-"

"It’s out again - sorry about your friend - would you light my candle?"

"Well-"

"Yeah…ow-"

"Oh, the wax, it’s-"

"Dripping! I like it - between my-"

"Fingers, I figured…Oh, well, goodnight. It blew out again?"

"No - I think that I dropped my stash-"

"I know I’ve seen you out and about - when I used to go out - your candle’s out!"

"I’m illin’ - I had it when I walked in the door - it was pure - is it on the floor?"

"The floor?"

"They say I have the best ass below 14th street, is it true?"

"Yes."

"That is not the line, Tony," Ziva grumbles, giggling and serving him a light punch to the forearm. Tony clears his throat dramatically.

"What?"

"You’re staring again."

"Oh no, I mean you do - have a nice - I mean - you look familiar-"

"Like your dead girlfriend?"

"Only when you smile, but I’m sure I’ve seen you somewhere else-"

"Do you go to the Cat Scratch Club? That’s where I work - I dance-"

"Yes! They used to tie you up-"

"It’s a living-"

"I didn’t recognise you without the handcuffs!"

"We could light the candle - oh won’t you light the candle?"

"Why don’t you forget that stuff? You look like you’re sixteen-"

"I’m nineteen but I’m old for my age, I’m just born to be bad-"

"I once was born to be bad - I used to shiver like that-"

"I have no heat - I told you-"

"I used to sweat-"

"I got a cold-"

"Uh-huh, I used to be a junkie-"

"But now and then I like to-"

"Uh-huh-"

"Feel good-"

"Here it - um-"

"What’s that?"

"It’s a candy bar wrapper."

"We could light the candle - what’d you do with my candle?"

"That was my last match."

"Our eyes’ll adjust, thank God for the moon-"

"Maybe it’s not the moon at all - I hear Spike Lee’s shooting down the street-"

"Bah humbug, bah humbug-"

"Cold hands-"

"Yours too - big, like my father’s - you wanna dance?"

This time Ziva’s the one who extends her hand, and Tony who takes it.

"With you?"

"No, with my father!"

"I’m Tony."

"They call me…they call me Ziva."


End file.
